I am sewing. I wonder whether it will
be of some comfort to know years hence.
The hours spent by the stove till
this record is shepherded towards present tense.
First a sweatshirt, then a blanket to pullover
the broadening shoulders by the fire side.
Each stitch a tie that pricks our regret over
a loosening grip; each badge a source of pride.
And tomorrow’s tomorrow, will they see
the same pangs or remain blind in slumber
– just as their forebears be –
until loss and longing fuels their hunger.